Blood, Dust, and Ash
by DearLordOrLady
Summary: Two years have passed since the iconic plane crash. Clarice tries to bury her hardships, and Hannibal Lecter, in the past. She never imagined the past would try to bury her as she navigates a world of blood, dust, and ash. This is a sequel to my first fan fic "Surviving Paradise". Rated M for gritty adult themes.
1. Chapter 1

Clarice woke up every morning at 5AM. Besides it being necessary, she enjoyed watching the sun wake up with her as she cooked her breakfast and got ready for a hard day's work. Today was a little different though, because today Ardelia was coming to visit.

Two years ago Clarice was involved in a plane crash that had changed her entire life. It had crashed on a remote island in the South Pacific Ocean and while she hadn't spent many days stranded there, her time there had been rife with turmoil.

It made a very sensational story which she and many of the survivors had sold for a decent amount of money. However, there were people in high places that didn't find her rendition of the story amusing, and most of those people were in the FBI. Things happened that shouldn't have and Clarice had been understandably fired. Before she sold the rights to her story she had nearly gone broke hiring a lawyer to keep her out of prison.

There were people in her life who had supported her through the whole nightmare; Ardelia and Jack Crawford. Hannibal Lecter also had made things much easier for her, in his own way, as he joyfully recounted in front of a judge how simple it was to manipulate Clarice to do his bidding. It was chilling how convincing he was, and the more he spoke the more Clarice feared he was telling the truth. She never forgot when the trial was over how she had caught his eye and he had winked at her. It was the last interaction she had before he was sent back to the Baltimore State Forensic Hospital.

Despite being found innocent of charges, her name was practically mud. Her only saving grace was she wasn't street-recognizable, people knew her by name, not by face. After she narrowly escaped her prison sentence she went to the court and submitted the process of changing her surname from Starling to Walker.

She attended college, got a new degree, and bought a tobacco farm in Texas. She had started over.

Ardelia had kept in touch by sending her letters and a weekly hour-long phone call. They tried to see each other twice a year, usually one trip around Christmas. Ardelia had agreed to see Clarice this year around late summer, just before the tobacco crop would need to be harvested. She insisted Clarice have a little bit of fun before the craziness of harvesting her bread-and-butter would slam her world and take up all her free time.

Clarice heard the tires of a car grind on the gravel outside her small house. She pushed the curtain from the window and saw Ardelia get out of the car. Through the window they locked eyes, and Ardelia let out a squeal of delight, waving furiously.

The taxi driver rolled his eyes, he was an older man who was balding and clearly at the age where younger women annoyed him more than entertained him. As Clarice bounded out the door he laid Ardelia's bags on the ground and demanded payment while the two women were in a tight hug.

"Oh my God girl, you are fit!" Ardelia said pulling back and admiring her figure.

"Moving around all day will do that to you." Clarice said. "I don't even run anymore."

"Well ladies, _I_ gotta run so..." the taxi driver said rudely holding out his hand.

Ardelia sighed and paid the man. He didn't even thank her, and they couldn't care less as he sloppily made a U-turn in Clarice's spacious driveway and peeled away.

"I am so excited to see you!" Ardelia said giving Clarice another hug. "I've got a huge surprise." She said beaming.

Clarice picked up Ardelia's luggage and brought it in the house, pleased that her petite frame proved unconquerable to heavy baggage.

"Oh...no...Clarice." Ardelia laughed as she walked into the living room.

The plane crash had made Clarice a bit of a minimalist as far as possessions went. It showed the most in her living room décor, there was a single love-seat and a lamp perched in the corner with a large bookshelf against the corner. There was no television (Clarice had last her taste for it), and a stack of old newspapers was sitting neatly in a bin.

"Honey, you need some art in here or something. This is just depressing." Ardelia told her.

"Yeah, well, I haven't had to impress too many guests." Clarice admitted.

"Now I know what to get you for Christmas. A living room that doesn't look like my grandpa's den." Ardelia teased her. "Is this why you and Todd are 'just friends'?"

"How about a cup of the best coffee in the whole state of Texas?" Clarice offered her.

"Don't try to change the subject." Ardelia said.

"Todd is 45 years-old and sleeps with his shotgun, which he happily refers to as his wife." Clarice shouted at her from the kitchen. "I believe his heart belongs to another."

Thankfully, the kitchen was the best furnished room in the house, and it was Clarice's favorite room. Natural light filtered in best through the wide windows, giving the home a cheery look.

"So what's this big surprise?" Clarice asked Ardelia as she scooped coffee in her coffee maker.

"Remember Ryan?" Ardelia said with a sly grin.

"Mr. tall, dark and handsome?" Clarice said recalling Ardelia's description. "How can I forget?"

"Well...we've been dating for a couple months and he invited me to his cabin in the Pocono's!" She said. "His brother is planning a trip in December- he asked me if there was anyone I wanted to bring, so naturally I brought up your name!"

"Wow..."

"Clarice, Christmas in the Pocono's, you can't say no." Ardelia pleaded desperately.

"I don't know Dee..." Clarice said pouring them both a cup of coffee.

"Look, I know you're a little uncomfortable with...remote areas...but you live on a farm. It's pretty isolated here, and look, nothing has happened to you."

"Todd is next door."

"Yeah, like a mile away. There are phones there, Clarice. Plus, we'll be with you." Ardelia said. "I'll be with you. And two really attractive, able-bodied men will be with you. I promise you'll be safe."

"...Alright." Clarice agreed with mild anxiety. She handed Ardelia her cup of coffee. "Attractive, able-bodied men, you say?"

"Hotness runs in that family." She said wiggling her eyebrows. "Ryan's brother is a doctor, and we all know how much you like doctors."

"Not funny." Clarice sighed sitting at the table.

"I'm sorry." Ardelia apologized sincerely. "...He hasn't...contacted you, has he?"

Clarice stirred some cream in her coffee, trying to muster up a weak smile. She knew who Ardelia was referring to.

"I think he's kinda busy being crazy in a maximum security mental ward." She joked.

"Do you want to see him?" Ardelia asked. "You don't have to answer that, I mean, I'm not judging you."

"Some days, I do." Clarice admitted. "And some days the thought of him makes me want to run away screaming. He terrifies me, Dee. Time puts a lot of things in perspective, and a lot of our time together on the island was confusing and scary."

Ardelia nodded.

"I try not to think about him." Clarice said. "I always do though. Everyday."

"That's because you need to meet new people." Ardelia said trying to lighten up the mood. "I'm scared you're going to turn funny out here and start making out with your plants."

"I talk to people." Clarice said.

"Name one person besides me and Todd." Ardelia challenged.

"People," Clarice said with a sheepish smile, "as in two...you and Todd."

They laughed. Clarice felt new life being breathed into her as Ardelia recounted the fine details of her boyfriend Ryan and his brother. It was wonderful to enjoy someone else's company besides her own.

Still, Hannibal Lecter lingered in the back of Clarice's mind...like he always did. Everyday.

* * *

One of the joys Clarice had on the farm was being able to build a bonfire. It was the single thing she carried over her island-experience with pleasure. At night she would often grab a chair, place near her fire pit and look at the stars as she relaxed.

Tonight she and Ardelia had stocked up on food for smores and had enough beer to shame a liquor store. Clarice had called Todd's phone and left a message on his answering machine inviting him over for a night of irresponsibility and drunkenness, something they rarely but occasionally indulged in as fellow neighbors.

"Want to see me start a fire without matches?" Clarice asked.

"After your third beer, miss lightweight? Hell no." Ardelia said. She handed Clarice the box of hardwood matches pointedly.

"Fine." Clarice sighed.

"Be careful." Ardelia said as she watched Clarice light the tinder.

"I got it!" Clarice laughed, blowing on the small flame to make it bigger.

A loud whistle pierced the air and both Clarice and Ardelia turned their gaze towards the empty house.

"Was that Todd?" Ardelia asked.

"I think so." Clarice replied. She picked up her beer and an unopened one. "I forgot to tell him we're out back."

"If you're going in the house bring me a water." Ardelia called after her.

Clarice smiled as she made her way to the house. She was a little past being buzzed and had slipped into a light drunk-state. The world wasn't teetering, but she was prone to a giggle-fit and felt the fuzzy warmness that being drunk gave her. She was careful not to trip on a step as she walked up to the porch. Todd wasn't waiting for her, so she opened the screen door to peer inside.

"Todd, we're out back!" Clarice yelled. She waited a few seconds in the silence for a confirmation, but besides the crickets there was no reply. She stepped inside and saw her living room and kitchen was empty.

_Maybe he was in the bathroom._

She left the two beers on the table and opened the fridge to grab a bottled water for Ardelia. Before leaving the house she knocked on her bathroom door, which she saw swing open slightly when she hit it.

_Hm._

She left with the bottled water in her hand, and remembered her beers were on the table.

_I'll make Todd get it later._

She was going to join Ardelia when something caught her eye.

Todd had helped her build a shack half a year ago to hold some of the smaller tools on her farm; because he had done a good job, she gave him permission to use anything in it provided he ask first. He had taken her up on her offer a couple of times and had honored the agreement by asking before taking anything out of it, and it had been Clarice's pleasure to help out since he had been so generous with his time.

25 yards away she could see the light was on and the shed door was open. Todd's truck wasn't in the driveway, and it was probably too far a hike for him to make (although he had done it occasionally). Clarice would have been more alarmed if the light wasn't on, wild animals were constantly crossing on her land and routinely poked around.

"Tooooooodd!" She shouted, cupping her hands.

She waited for him to step out of the shed, but he hadn't immerged.

"Todd- get out here!" Clarice shouted, this time a little worried. If it was an intruder she was hardly in the right state of mind to deal with them.

"One second!" she heard his voice shout back.

She smiled, relieved.

"My goodness," Clarice half-shouted as she ran towards the shed. "You scared me!" She laughed.

She was breathing a little hard when she reached the shed and pulled the door wider. She put the bottled water on the ground to keep the door open.

"You can't borrow anything unless you drink a beer with us, that's the rule!" Clarice said as she stepped in.

The light inside held a standard bulb and only lit up the middle of the shed adequately. It casted long shadows as it lit up a work-table in the middle of the room.

"I don't like being scared." Clarice said as she nervously searched for a person. It looked empty. Todd was the epitome of a nice-guy, and Clarice felt it was unusual for him to hide from her.

"Clarice Walker..."

Clarice froze, her eyes finding the shadow of a man in the right corner where she kept her barrels.

"It doesn't have the same charm, I'm afraid." Hannibal Lecter's voice rang.

Through her fuzzy terror she shifted to the side of the room where she kept a drawer of knives. She could hardly believe it when it opened with no effort and she found it empty.

"I anticipated your usual warm greeting." He informed her.

The door slammed and she jumped in fright, her heart pounding in her chest.

"Doctor Lecter...what are you doing here?" She said gripping the shelf behind her.

"Have you forgotten my promise to you?" He said stepping into the light. The hanging bulb cast shadows over his face similar to when she had met him first in his cell. "Or is it the drink that's scrambled your mind?" he hissed.

"...That was two years ago." Clarice said, trying to get a grip on her rational mind. "I've moved on to better things."

"Yeah..." He said sarcastically, looking her up and down. "I can see that."

Clarice never felt so ashamed to be drunk in her life.

"You're trespassing." Clarice informed him.

His face was frozen in a strange, predatory expression. Clarice forgot how still he could be and imagined it was probably what unsuspecting prey saw before being pounced.

"Todd will be here any moment." She said trying to look confident.

"In your shed?" Hannibal said. He seemed annoyed with her obvious lie. "Am I to believe you invite him regularly here in the middle of night?"

"...I called-" Clarice started, hating how shaky she felt.

"And left a message on his machine. I know. I got it." He said softly. He was now studying her closely. And she thought she saw a ghost of a smile when it finally dawned on her.

She hadn't seen Todd... in days.

Hannibal Lecter had got the phone message.

"...What did you do to him?" Clarice asked, rage flaring inside her belly. She would never forgive herself if Hannibal Lecter had harmed him. "is he alive?"

A bang on the door broke Hannibal's attention. Clarice didn't think she'd get a better moment to run away then while he was distracted.

She nearly stumbled as she reached the door, shoving it open so hard it banged against the wall and swung towards her. Hannibal was quicker than she thought, or she was slower, and he had caught up with her after four quick steps.

Clarice stopped running. For the first time in years, she stopped worrying about Hannibal Lecter. Her farm, with it's many acres of Virginia gold-leaf tobacco, had disappeared. The ground was covered in dust, as if something had sucked the water out of it with her crops. In the distance, what could have been miles, was a glow of a town.

"…That's not my farm." Clarice said. She turned her head, expecting to see her home, and a silver-tainted spasm of terror gripped her. Her home was gone, replaced with flat, dusty fields.

Hannibal's eyes were shifting over the landscape rapidly, his brow furrowed and mouth slightly open.

"Where…where's my house?" Clarice asked him. He stared at her, as if discovering she was there. "Doctor Lecter…how…a nuclear bomb?" She asked. "What is that?"

"…Clarice," He said softly, "let's go back inside."

He had to grab her hand to get her to move towards the shed. She was still trying to figure out how anyone or anything could make her home disappear.

Hannibal Lecter opened the shed door, and Clarice stifled a scream.

The shed was empty, and rotten boards had been punched out of the back, revealing the landscape similar to the one outside. The roof was almost completely open as moonbeams shone on broken bottles and a smattering of hay.

The suspended light bulb, of course, was gone.

"That's not my shed!" Clarice said gripping Hannibal's hand tightly. "That's- where's my shed?" She turned to him for answers. "Did I have a seizure?" Clarice panicked. "Some, chemical LSD in the air? Did you poison me?"

"It's not likely we're suffering the same delusion." He told her. He turned towards her sharply, causing her to jump back and let go of his hand. "Did you feel anything different in the shed?"

A howl of wind passed through the rotted boards and she felt she would pass out.

"Clarice!" He screamed at her. "Anything?"

"No." Clarice said shaking her head.

"Neither did I." He said.

They stood together for a long time in silence.

"Well," Hannibal said turning to her. "Let's have a look, shall we?"

She waited until he stepped inside before following him. It was a rather unremarkable, it looked to her as time had taken her shed aged it four hundred years. Hannibal was scoping out the corner of the room, paused, and turned to face her.

"Shut the door." He ordered her.

Clarice felt irrationally scared to touch anything but willed herself to obey. She wanted to feel as calm and in control as Hannibal Lecter. Trying to look collected she grabbed the door and shut it.

"Now…take your place over there." Hannibal told her. She walked to the corner, the once familiar space now completely alien to her. "Push away all your fear, Clarice…picture, in your mind, everything about the moment before you opened the door...what you thought, how you felt, the things you said and did. Try to recreate that feeling, and run to the door…push it open." He told her.

She took a few breaths of air, her drunken buzz almost dead. She had been worried about Todd. Hannibal Lecter had insinuated he was attacked, she was frustrated and frightened by his silence.

She saw Hannibal's attention shift to the exit, perfectly mimicking the moment he was distracted by the thumping of the door. She twisted and ran, trying not to trip before slamming the door open just as she had before.

Her heart sank as she ran a few steps outside; Hannibal once more trailed behind her.

"Hm." He said. "So much for that."

Without a backwards glance he started walking towards the far-off town at a steady pace. The lights in the distance gave it a fuzzy hue.

"…What was supposed to happen?" Clarice asked, trailing behind him. "Where are you going?"

He stopped and rounded on her.

"You said I was 'trespassing'," He said, a mocking tone to his voice. "you didn't want me on your land…around you. Well…" he dropped his voice to a whisper. "reality has fractured and your wish has been granted. Goodbye Clarice."

"Wait- you can't leave me out here alone!" Clarice said to his retreating back.

"But you've already left me, haven't you?" He called to her behind his shoulder, never ceasing his pace. "With your cheap beer, new name, and acres Virginia gold-leaf. I imagine you were paid pretty well for your version of our mishap. How fortunate you are to be given a chance to abandon the horrors behind you. Congratulations, you've done well for yourself."

"I lost things too." Clarice said stumbling after him.

"And how did it make you feel when the bureau fired you? Did you resent them for taking the very best of you in difficult times before casting you aside?"

"It's not like that." Clarice fumed, aware he was implying she was using him.

"Are you scared, Clarice? Are you going to try to seduce me now?" He asked with unmistaken contempt. "I've become quite familiar with this pattern, my fair weather lover."

"What was I supposed to do?" Clarice seethed, shouting at him. She had stopped following him now and he was leaving her behind. "Send you letters? conjugal visits? Everything I ever loved in life has been taken from me. My family, my job, my reputation, fuck- even my last name! That was my father's last name- I used to be my father's daughter!" She screamed.

"With all that loss, you want to know what I think about every morning?" She said. She had to run to keep him within earshot. "I think about _you_! You know what I think about when I'm working in that hellish field all day and night? I think about _you_! - What I think about when I'm making my dinner? _You_!" Her voice was going hoarse with emotion. "Sometimes it drives me so damn crazy I have to read a stack of books to get something else in my head!"

Hannibal had finally stopped walking. Clarice swallowed thickly, angry tears springing to her eyes as she walked towards him, now a two yards away.

"You want to know the truth? The truth is…" she choked, her West Virginian accent thick. "I can't dream up a man that I love as much as I love you…and I can't dream up a monster that scares me as much as you! So don't you dare act all high and mighty, callin' me a 'fair weather lover' - because you're one too!" She screamed.

She could see his powerful shoulders rising and falling as he breathed. She wondered if he would be furious for her yelling at him or if she should prepare herself for a fight. She was no longer drunk, so her reflexes were mostly good, but she was still shaky from the adrenaline rush.

Without turning around, he held out his right hand away from his side, his palm facing her, and wiggled his fingers. Clarice sniffed and used her arm to wipe her face before slipping her hand in his.

"Did you kill Todd?" Clarice asked.

"No." he replied.

She knew there was no way to confirm he was lying.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

**This is not your mama's Hannibal/Silence of the Lambs fan fic! As you've probably noticed, I like to write stories that are a little...off the wall. Can you guess what's happening? Hmmm? No? Well then I suppose you'll just have to read the next chapter to discover what went wrong...very, very wrong.**


	2. Chapter 2

Clarice thought they had to be in the middle of bumblefuck nowhere. She had only seen a high volume of all-wooden buildings in small towns that she occasionally passed through when avoiding the major highways. Most of them were populated by country yokels, the kind of people who had little imagination for big city life and even less desire to be a part of it.

Hannibal Lecter had stopped at the edge of town and encouraged her to call two taxis- one for him and one for her. He wouldn't risk mixing with the population, he didn't want to be recognized. Clarice understood and also didn't want to be associated with the criminal the whole world had accused her of having a Bonnie-and-Clyde relationship with.

Clarice shuffled down the wide street, dodging horse poop and reading the ole-timey street signs lit only by hurricane lanterns. The longer she hiked through town the more she was impressed, it was a tourist trap that could have given Disney World a run for it's money.

"McCoy's Apothecary and Barber." Clarice read, laughing. In the script below she read, _WE DO DENTISTRY TOO!_

A few quaint homes were scattered between the buildings, some with horse-hitches and water troughs. She saw in the middle of town a bunch of horses tied up outside a building, it was one of the few that had paint and was higher than three stories. The sound of voices and piano music faintly reached her ears.

"Excellent." Clarice said, catching eye of the large "SALOON" sign. She was relieved whoever ran things in town hadn't packed up and gone home for the night.

Two men in full cowboy garb were talking outside and smoking cigarettes. She smiled at them as she walked past them. One of the men tilted his hat in greeting while the other shamelessly stared at her; he shifted in place as she walked past them to get a better look. It made her feel terribly self-conscious.

She pushed past the swinging bar-door, one of the panels had more spring than the other. The voices that floated through the air were suddenly cut off, like someone had pressed a mute button. A few tinny keys on the piano sang before joining the silence.

"Hi..." Clarice said, aware every eye was pointed in her directly. It was definitely a good thing Hannibal hadn't come with her. She wondered briefly if she had interrupted some sort of elaborate rehearsal. "I'm sorry, my car broke down...and...I need to use your phone."

A group of men in the back, who were a little too drunk, obnoxiously roared with laughter.

"What the hell...?" She heard a man to her right mumble to his friend. They were playing cards and in the middle dealing a hand. An old man with a leathery face still had a thumb on top of the deck, ready to flick another card to someone. Her sudden appearance had stopped the game completely.

She felt awkward and searched the room for a sympathetic face. It seemed to her that everyone was waiting for something to happen.

"I didn't mean to interrupt." She said.

"You didn't interrupt anything." One of the card-players said to her. He stood up from the table and nodded at her in greeting. The first thing Clarice noticed was his thick blonde mustache which was waxed to curl on the ends.

"Smitty, play the tune-box!" someone shouted from the stairs. The piano music began to play and the volume of conversation started up, but much more guarded.

"I'm lost." Clarice said, meaning the phrase in many different ways.

"You're welcome to stay here until you've found yourself." the man replied good-naturedly as he led her to the bar. She sat on a stool and he joined her.

"Forgive me for saying this, but ma'am, you're a little too pretty to be wearing pants, if you know what I mean." He said looking her up and down. He smelled like stale sweat and cigars, and Clarice noticed with some displeasure the dirty blonde hair that poked under the brim of his hat was plastered to his face by a thick layer of grease. "What's a girl like you doin' in her brother's clothes?"

"My brother's clothes?" Clarice repeated looking down at her outfit. She had gone out of the house in jeans and a gray blouse, very casual but hardly boy-clothes.

"Ah, you're a rancher, right? I don't blame you for being the practical type. Yeah, those frilly frocks aren't easy to ride in. Not that I'd know." He said winking at her. "Can I get you a drink?"

"I don't know who sounds crazier right now, me or you." Clarice mumbled.

"...I got myself an inkling." He said. He lifted his hand and caught the bartender's attention. Without a word the man behind the bar poured him a straight whiskey shot.

"Listen...you folks are impressive." Clarice said to him. "I can appreciate your dedication to your craft, but I need...like...real life help." She explained.

He looked around the saloon and leaned in towards her.

"Are you in trouble sweetheart?" He asked her flirtatiously, lifting up an eyebrow.

"I swear, I will put, like, a hundred dollars in your tip jar if you just lead me to a phone." Clarice begged him.

A skinny man with bright red hair and the loudest yellow-checkered suit Clarice had ever seen stepped between her and the greasy man she was talking to.

"Wheepin' Jesus," He said, his Irish accent ringing. "I thought you were scum for goin' after my sister, but tryin' to bed a poor lass touched in the head, you're a real piece of work Andy."

'Andy' huffed and drank his shot in one go. She saw him knock his shot glass against the bar, signaling the bartender to fill it up.

"Eh...she wasn't convinced." he said. "Maybe she's got more sense than she let's on."

"Okay." Clarice said taking a big calming breath. She was really hitting her limit for tolerating craziness. "Who is in charge here?"

"You mean sheriff?" Andy said, his helpful, eager tone completely gone.

"Yeah- whatever- the sheriff." Clarice replied.

"In the jailhouse I reckon." Andy said lighting up a smelly, half-burnt cigar. "Sleeping off a night of debauchery, most likely."

"Stop being an arse." The Irishman barked.

"Hey- come on-" Andy cursed as his friend pulled back a flap of his jacket to reveal a sheriffs star.

Clarice covered her face with her hands, feeling defeated.

"You're in charge?" She asked between her fingers.

"God damn Mick!" Andy cursed at the Irishman. "I don't want to deal with this loony tonight."

"You were already trying to deal with her and she asked for ya, boyo." He turned to her, offering a dirt-stained hand. "I'm Patrick McCoy."

"Patrick McCoy? You really don't shy away from stereotypes, do you?" She said, refusing to take part in his handshake. "Let me guess," she said dropping her hands on the bar and looking at the greasy man, "Andrew Cassidy?"

Andy turned to Patrick and raised both his palms up in the air.

"And what exactly am I supposed to do with her?" He asked.

"She's clearly out of her mind..." Patrick said softly. "She could be a danger to herself."

Andy leaned on the bar, looking past Patrick and into her eyes.

"Are you gonna start any trouble?" He asked her, his cigar ash falling onto the bar.

"…I just might if I don't get some straight answers." Clarice replied.

"See?" Andy said to Patrick removing his cigar from his mouth. He lifted up his shot glass. "Harmless." He said drinking his second shot.

Patrick pursed his lips together and left the bar with his own glass of liquor.

"I'm done with this." Clarice said standing up from her stool. Andy rested his head on his hand, watching her. "Do you have a phone in this toon-town or not?"

"Wretcher!" A man's voice roared from outside. Clarice saw a big man in a loose, stained confederate coat burst through the swinging bar-door. "I thought I'd find your drunk ass in here!" He snarled.

"Shit!" Andy hissed spinning on his stool and leaving his shot glass on the bar. "Can't a man enjoy a quiet drink on his birthday?" He mumbled.

"Take it outside, Andy." The bartender said nervously.

"No worries friend, I'm here for one man." The boisterous man said pointing a finger at Andy.

"Callaghan...Your cousin was a horse thief, and too shitty a card player to win his last five hands...I think he cheated most the people here three times over. So as far as I'm concerned, he got his just deserts eatin' my bullet." Andrew spoke loudly.

"That may be true, but he was still family." Callaghan snarled. "Blood is blood, Wretcher."

Clarice had spent a lot of time in gun training, and was certainly considered a crack-shot herself. Never in her life, even in training, had she seen a man draw a gun so fast. Andy drew from the hip and blasted three shots like a semi-automatic.

It was then Clarice second guessed herself. She knew what real gunshot sounded like and the familiar stench of gunpowder filled her nose.

She hadn't allowed herself to believe what all her senses confirmed. These people weren't play-acting. Those were real bullets being fired; the smoke rising into the air confirmed it.

People scrambled and tables were turning, Clarice saw a man jump over the bar and duck behind it. The confederate hadn't come alone and she saw other men jump in and fire what she recognized was shotguns.

Things were getting too dangerous, and there were too many people in the line of fire. Clarice saw a group of men run to the back of the room and slip through a back door. She would have to cross a large part of the bar to get there, but she wasn't going to sit in the middle of a fire-fight with no weapon.

She kneeled down and crawled between the tables, the sound of bullets whizzing by bring back unpleasant memories.

_This is serious, they are shooting to kill._

She had to step over a man who passed-out and pissed himself to exit the back door. A few other people had followed her lead and were running away in different directions, presumably towards their homes.

In the distance, on what could be the only "hill" for miles, was a church with a graveyard. If she ran straight for five minutes she could reach it.

She was yanked roughly away from the exit and nearly fell face-first on the ground but was caught by a pair of strong arms.

"I heard gunfire." She heard Hannibal say. He was dragging her towards the church.

Her risk to exit the back couldn't have been timed better as she saw Andy exit with another pursuer close by. Without looking Andy pointed his gun behind him and shot his aggressor in the head. The villain dropped like a stone, his face slapping the ground.

_That's real._

After a tense bout of running, they finally reached the church. The lock to the church door was broken, and Clarice suspected Hannibal had been the one to break it considering how well-kept the building seemed. He slipped inside, holding the door for her.

It was a moderately large building with smooth wooden pews. Long, thin windows let the moon-light in, and Clarice could see a red carpet that had been rolled over the wooden floorboards leading up to front of the raised platform. A large wooden cross hung behind the pulpit and there were no decorations anywhere except a single painting of Jesus praying.

Hannibal picked up a Bible that was resting on a table near the entrance and marched toward the cross. Clarice watched him stop just before the pulpit. He turned to her.

"Come here Clarice, my sweet lamb." He sang to her with a perverse smile.

The Bible was still in his hand, and she could see his eyes focused upon her, unblinking. She swallowed down her terror, determined not to allow him to have any power over her, and walked down the isle with a steady pace.

His eyes followed her all the way down the isle where he stood expectantly at the end.

"Why are we here?" Clarice asked, her eyes burning as she refused to blink. It was much more difficult than she thought.

"A very good question." He replied smoothly. "I don't believe we'll ever know, unless the divine wishes to inform us..." His eyes flickered toward the single painting of Jesus Christ, the only decoration besides the cross in the church.

Clarice was half-convinced the man praying in the painting would start speaking, as if Hannibal could command the impossible. She held her breath for a moment searching the praying Jesus for any signs of life. After a pause she looked back to Hannibal, who was studying her with wide, crazy eyes and smiling at her showing a row of his small white teeth.

"I'm afraid we haven't been on speaking terms for quite some time." He said to her.

She let out the breath she was holding. He had purposely worked her up, and of course she fell for it.

"So," He said tersely, cutting through the heavy, dramatic atmosphere he had created. "What have you concluded from your short visit into town, Clarice?"

"It's full of lunatics living in some wild west fantasy." She replied.

"All of them?" He questioned her.

She didn't respond, and he pulled back slightly.

"If neither we nor they are lunatics, what is another conclusion?" He asked.

"...That somehow we have been transported in the wild west." Clarice replied skeptically. "But I'm sure these people must be part of a cult or something."

"I'm sure we have somehow arrived at a different place in time." He replied. "It's unlikely we simultaneously hallucinated our reemergence in another location and unwittingly discovered a cult living a universal delusional fantasy devoted to the post-civil war era."

"And how is it as unlikely as time travel?" Clarice asked him. "Cults exist."

"So do mistakes." Hannibal replied. "Everything, from clothes, to the colloquialisms to diseases is authentic and without error. Every wooden construct I've observed has hand-forged nails." Hannibal replied. "That is just one example of the authenticity of this place."

She watched him carefully for an attempt to work her up like had with the speaking Jesus.

"So maybe they had an expert in all things 1800's, and put a lot of work into it." Clarice said. "Maybe they raided a museum."

"And the railroad?" Hannibal asked.

"What?"

"The railroad." He replied. "Where does it go? If I were a cult leader, I wouldn't make it so easy for my followers to move around. I also wouldn't waste millions of dollars on a railroad to nowhere."

"I don't know. Maybe no one rides it- maybe there's no train." Clarice replied desperately. "It is not a stretch of the imagination to believe these people are brainwashed!"

"They don't show signs of psychological coaching." He replied.

"They could be the offspring of a super-cult."

"How do you account for our being transported here?" He asked.

"I don't have any theories." She admitted. He folded his hands in front of him, the Bible still in his hand. "…Do you have a theory?" She asked him.

"Yes." He replied. She got the impression he had been waiting for her to ask for a while.

He showed her the Bible and opened it in half. Clarice saw he settled in the Psalms.

"This is 1866." He said showing the book to her. He flipped one of the paper-thin pages. "Think of each turning page as a year..." he explained. "I am the force that is making time go forward. It is always going forward, we are always leaving the past behind us."

He stopped flipping pages and picked up the side of the Bible that was "the past".

"Do you see how the pages have stacked on this side?" He asked her.

"Yes."

"I believe time is a tangible thing. Some claim it's an illusion, but it's not, we can measure it precisely, and events can be 'stacked'." He said to her.

"I follow you doctor." Clarice replied.

"We are experiencing time at a normal pace…" He said. "We are not living in a slower second or a faster minute. We haven't interrupted time or manipulated it. I believe somehow something has pierced a hole in the stack, and we have fallen through it."

"A hole in time?" Clarice asked incredulously. "In my _shed_?"

"Location may or may not have anything to do with it." he replied stoically.

"Okay…say I believe this theory. How do we climb out of this hole?" Clarice asked him.

He flipped the pages and looked up at her.

"What about going back to the shed?" Clarice said. "Can we jump out of this time-pit?"

"How do you jump forward 200 years?"

"I imagine it's the same way you fall back 200 years but in reverse."

He smiled, genuinely amused at her answer.

"I'm trying to keep an open mind, Doctor, but it's difficult." She said. "I still think there's a rational explanation."

"I am open to any theories you come up with." He replied.

She sighed, exhausted, and sat on a pew.

"Are you tired?" He asked her.

"Yes." She replied. "I was supposed to get drunk and eat smores, and stay up all night gossiping with my best friend. Tonight was supposed to be fun."

He put the Bible down on the pulpit and sat next to her.

"We can still have fun, Clarice." He said suggestively.

"We're in a church…" She groaned. "If it was God who threw us back in time, the last thing I want to do is piss Him off by defiling His house of worship."

"You believe in God, but claim time travel is impossible?" Hannibal asked her.

"Ugh, please leave me alone." Clarice said laying down on the pew.

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid." He said.

Wariness finally caught up with her, and she felt herself slipping into sleep.

"…You're going to feel so foolish if we find a phone." She said softly with a grin.

He was untying the laces on her boots and lifted her pant leg a little before removing them. He placed them neatly under the pew, and began to take off her socks.

"What are you doing?" She asked him.

"Helping you relax." He replied folding her socks and sticking them in her shoes.

He used both his hands to apply pressure on her left foot. He was stroking between the arch and the balls of her feet. It had been years since anyone had given her a foot massage, she had forgotten how much she missed physical contact.

"That feels amazing." Clarice moaned. "Please don't stop."

"…You make this very rewarding for me when you say things like that." He said seductively.

He spent a good five minutes on her left foot before switching to her right. Clarice was close to falling asleep on the hard wooden pew. After he was done massaging her feet she heard him get up and walk over to her. He lightly brushed a few strands of her hair with his hand and kissed her forehead tenderly before walking away.

_Wow. He really can be sweet sometimes._

"_I'm sure he's thought the same thing about his victims." _said an ugly voice from the back her mind that sounded suspiciously like Jack Crawford. It completely ruined the moment.

She heard him laying down the pew next to her, and he breathed deeply before letting out a powerful sigh.

* * *

It was still dark when she woke up, which wasn't unusual for her because her body was still accustomed to getting up around 5 AM. What she wasn't used to was the aches and pains she got for sleeping on a narrow, hard pew. It took her a moment to massage the crick out of her neck.

The massage reminded her of last nights affair when Hannibal had rubbed her feet. She sat up and searched the pew next to her expecting to find him asleep. It was empty. She looked toward the pulpit but he wasn't there either.

Her shoes and socks were still under the pew and she was relieved Hannibal didn't hide them. After she put them on she searched all the pews just in case he had relocated in the middle of the night. She discovered she was alone.

_What time does he get up?_

She checked the windows before going outside, she didn't see him lingering anywhere. The graveyard was empty as well.

She had no choice, she was going to have to wander into town.

* * *

She had taken precautions not the take the main streets in town, but it was hardly necessary. She didn't run into anyone until she walked out of an alleyway connecting to the main street.

Patrick McCoy was leaning against a beam in front of the apothecary and barber shop. Clarice made the connection that he was the stores owner, his sign confirming it.

"Hey!" He called to her. He jogged to greet her. "We thought you ran off, glad to see you're okay." He said running a quick eye over her.

"More or less." Clarice replied guarded.

"Um..I don't want you getting the impression that shooting up the place is a regular event." He said self-consciously. "This is a nice town, I promise."

"Last night I saw your sheriff shoot a man dead." She replied.

"The bastard had it coming." Patrick shrugged.

"Ever heard of due process?" Clarice asked.

He didn't seem to have an answer for her. Clarice sighed.

"Have you seen anyone pass through this way? I got separated from my...friend." Clarice said.

"You mean your husband?" Patrick asked.

"What?" Clarice asked frowning. "My husband?"

"He's in the pub, patchin' up the wounded." Patrick told her, nodding his head toward the saloon.

Suddenly it made sense. Patrick's insistence that the town was a great place to live and his interest for her welfare wasn't entirely based on gentlemanly concern. He was trying to get her to stay and most likely trying to recruit Hannibal into their cult as well. Clarice couldn't let that happen.

She wondered if the man in the eccentric suit before her could turn violent if she tried to break his delusion. She had been surprised by people before.

"Thanks." Clarice said politely. She didn't want to talk to him anymore or give him the opportunity to suck her into a conversation. Instead, she left him quickly and turned around to see if he was following her. He smiled and waved goodbye.

People were starting to spill into the street, especially as she made her way to the saloon. She felt exposed as the locals eye-balled her, none of them called out a greeting to her like Patrick had done. She wasn't sure if she was thankful or not for their off-putting demeanor.

As Clarice entered the saloon she found ten people laying on the ground, all of them in various stages of injury. Hannibal was bent over a man who Clarice assumed had caught a bullet in the leg and was wrapping a bandage around it tightly. An old bandage was disregarded at his feet, blood and puss tainting it.

"Hello, _husband_." Clarice said to him, trying to throw as much distain in the word as she could.

Hannibal's clever face turned to her, and she could see a smile forming.

"Ah...my lovely wife." He replied pleasantly.

It was Sheriff Andy that Hannibal was tending to, and Clarice heard him groan. Hannibal had just finished changing the bandage on his leg.

Andy sat up, he was shirtless and the bandage on his shoulder needed changing.

"You're married?" Andy asked her, disappointment heavy in his voice. "Could have told me that before I almost bought you a drink."

"I'm sorry sheriff, I just found out myself." Clarice replied shooting Hannibal a meaningful look that he didn't seem to notice.

"Forgive my wife, she's prone to female hysteria." Hannibal said to Andy.

'Female hysteria' Clarice mouthed at Hannibal furiously.

"Yeah...looks like she's got it bad." Andy said sympathetically.

"I haven't been able to give her the proper attention she deserves, and you can see how it's affected her." Hannibal said sadly.

_You son of a bitch._

"That's terrible, Doctor." Andy said.

"Yes, it seems we've had nothing but bad luck since we arrived." Hannibal sighed. "We lost everything in a bandit raid, and it's strained my wife's nerves considerably."

"I'm sure we can find a place for you here." Andy said. "It's the least we can do."

"Thank you sheriff for your kindness, we're very grateful." Hannibal replied.

"No." Clarice said fiercely. "We really have to be moving on."

"Don't be ridiculous, Clarice. We don't have any money or supplies." Hannibal said. He was patronizing her. "How could we possibly move on?"

They both watched her, pity etched on their faces.

"Bite me." Clarice fumed at Hannibal. As she left she made sure to shove the swinging-bar door with all her might, causing it to noisily squeak behind her.

Once again she was fighting Hannibal Lecter for control.

* * *

**Authors Note:**

**I know, I know, the story-line is eccentric. Still, I am very excited to be writing it and I hope you all are just as thrilled to read it.**

**My road rash is healing (finally), thank you for asking Katrina! It's a relief to see it scar over, because I wasn't sure if the deepest burn in my arm would.**

**I know I'm pumping out these chapters pretty fast. That may or may not be the case next week because I will be going on vacation in New Orleans with my best buddy. She's a writer as well, so it's entirely possible we'll be spending long hours in a car scribbling dialog and bouncing ideas off each other. I could be posting a new chapter every night or not at all. You know how it is on vacation.**

**Anyway, please review and let me know what you think of the story so far. I am really interested- and appreciate- your feedback.**


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